


Adrenalize

by Malcontent_Ash



Series: Adrenalize [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Codependent Winchesters, Demon Blood Addiction, Demon Dean, Eventual Happy Ending, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malcontent_Ash/pseuds/Malcontent_Ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jesus Christ,” Sam breathes.  He is jerking against the cuff and pulls himself back into the corner, looking surprisingly small for a man of his stature.  “Don’t do this.  Please, Dean."</p><p>This is the story of Sam and Dean taking a dark path that leads closer and closer to the steps of hell and their eventual redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant videos:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dXMfdpjnAHU  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZF5m-vmDzM

_49, 50, 51_ … Sam counts the seconds since he’d heard Dean slam the fridge door and wander back to his room with a couple beers.  He sat at one of the large tables, laptop open and his fingers resting on the keyboard, ready to look busy at a moment’s notice.  _52, 53, 54_ … Careful.  He considered adding Mississippis, or even starting the count again.  He was stalling.  With a final check around him he dug his phone out of his pocket.

        Pressing the screen, he flipped through his contacts and placed the call.  His knee bounced under the table as he listened to a pause and then two rings.

         “Sam.”  The voice is dark and soft like ash.

         “Cas,” Sam starts, swallowing.  “I need you to come back to the bunker.”

         “I thought we agreed that I should keep looking for Metatron,” Cas says, though his tone is more of a flat question.

         “Yeah, I know.  Cas, maybe… I’m not sure about Dean.”  Sam is trying to not upset Cas by sounding ominous, but he can’t shake the feeling and what he saw during the hunt has been coiling tight around his neck like a death sentence.

         “Has something happened?”

         “Maybe,” Sam looking over his shoulder for Dean and whispering into the phone.  “I don’t

know,” he admits.  “He’s not right.  Whatever’s gonna happen, I think it’ll be soon.”  In his mind’s eye he can still see what Dean had left behind after their last hunt.  He’s sure he imagined the flash of black in Dean’s eyes, but that didn’t make him stupid enough to ignore his instincts. 

         “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

         “Yeah.  Good.”  Sam hangs up, hands returning to rest on his keyboard.  He shuffles his papers around a bit and he’s nonchalantly drinking his coffee as Dean walks in.  It’s lukewarm at best and bitter but he takes a big gulp anyway. 

         “Hey Sam-o.  How goes the research?”

 

        With a weightless pop, Cas drops unceremoniously into the room with Sam and Dean.

         “Hey Cas,” Dean calls before taking another pull of his beer.  There are several bottles around him on the table and Sam sits across from him.  Sam shoots Cas a grateful look over the screen of his laptop.  He has grayish purple bruises under each eye and his bouncing knee under the table is causing his shoulders to shake slightly.

         “I’m glad you’re here.   I was just tellin’ Sam about a possible demon spotting only a state over.  Three prostitutes picked up on the same stretch of highway later found mutilated.  The only witness says that it was two men with black eyes.” 

         “Demons?  Dean…”  Inhumanely blue eyes narrowed he frowns at Dean.

         “Look, things have been rough.  I think that with the three of us, this could be a walk in the park.  Maybe give us all a break.  What do you think?”  Dean’s smile is aimed full force at Cas and Sam huffs beside him.

         “Dean, that last hunt… In case you didn’t notice, that didn’t go well.”

         “I know, Sammy.  I’m fighting the mark, but I can’t just sit here stewing in it.  I’ve got to stretch my legs.”  He stands and walks over the Cas, grabbing his shoulder with a firm grip. 

         “Where is it, Dean?”  Sam’s head jerks away from Dean to glare at Cas.

 

        They pile out of the Impala and Sam stalks toward the door of the 2-star no-tel to purchase a room for the night with Cas close on his heels. 

         “Damnit Cas,” Sam whispers, shooting a look back at Dean who’s digging their bags out of the trunk. 

         “Sam… He seeks okay,” Cas grumbles, not quite whispering as he hustles to keep up with Sam’s longer stride.  “Are you sure--?”

         “Yes!  I don’t--Something’s wrong.  I can feel it.”  Sam jerks the door open and slams it behind him, and Cas watches the shocked receptionist’s hands shaking from the other side of the window as Sam looms over her still livid with Cas.

 

         “Hey, Cas!”  Dean calls from beside the Impala.  “I’m gonna grab us some grub.  I’ll be back in a few, okay?” 

         “Dean.  Wait.”  Cas jogs over from the door.  “I’ll come with you.”  Dean just shrugs and slides into the driver’s side.  It’s growing dark now and the headlights of oncoming cars in the other lane illuminate the inside of the car every several seconds.  They head back three miles to a late night diner for truckers they passed on the way.  The place, generously put, is a dump, but they serve burgers all night and Dean leans against a sticky counter as he orders.  With a greasy paper bag in each hand, Dean heads back to the car.  It’s dark now, and the parking lot’s empty except for a few cars.  With loud crumpling, Dean digs out a burger and starts unwrapping it as he heads for the car.  He heads toward the driver’s side, fumbling his keys out of his pocket with his left hand as he takes a bite.

         “Dean,” Cas calls, hanging back a few feet. 

         “Hnhh,” Dean grunts back, mouth working over a thick mouthful of mediocre meat and stale bread.

         “I was hoping we could talk.”  He stands, unusually, ramrod straight.  Dean just nods, halfway rewrapping his burger and heading toward the trunk.  He pops it open and rummages through his duffle in the back.

         “Shoot,” he smiles, leaning against the bumper as he tucks something in his back pocket but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.  The expression makes Castiel’s skin itch.

         “Sam’s worried the mark’s changing you, Dean,” Cas studies his eyes, flicking from one to the other and looking for a hint of whatever has Sam spooked. 

         “Well, you know Sam,” Dean just keeps grinning and it strikes Cas suddenly with the word ‘grimace’.

         “I understand.  I’m not sure, but Sam seems pretty upset.”

         “I’m not changing into anything I haven’t been before,” Dean reassures him, but Cas looks upset, trying to decipher what part exactly Dean is referring to.  “Relax.  You know what I mean.  I’ve dealt with anger my whole life.  The bloodlust is a little different, but I’m still me.  I’m handling it.  Until we find a way to remove the mark, I’m handling it,” Dean reiterates.  It had become a mantra with Sam over the last couple weeks.

         “I don’t think…”  It’s all Cas can get out before Dean’s lunged for him with something in his hand.  Cas can’t see it for more than a flicker in the headlights of a car on the freeway.  Dean jabs it into his neck and he flinches.  It’s small, whatever it is and the point goes deep into the meat of his neck.  His chest heaves as he gasps air in shock.

         “Dea—“  Dean covers his mouth with a hand and cradles him as he sinks down.

         “Shh.  It won’t kill you.  I don’t think.”  He forces the plunger to a stop, empty now of the dark oil.  Cas shudders in his arms, eyes wide and unfocused.  His knees buckle completely as he grows limp.  Dean shuffles them back toward the building and leans Cas halfway against the wall.  His head nods down against his chest, cradled against the cold brick of the wall.  Dean tucks the needle, now empty of holy oil back into the trunk.

 

        Sam jumps when someone pounds on the door to his room.  He grabs his gun off the table and aims it low as he looks through the peephole.  Dean shoots him a goofy look and Sam sighs. 

         “What the hell, Dean,” Sam looks around, something still putting him on high alert.  “Where’s Cas?”  Dean just huffs, thrusting a cold bag of food against his chest before brushing past.

         “He said he had something he needed to do and then _poof_.”

         “Did he say what it was?”  Sam kicks the door shut, as he tucks his sidearm into the back of his jeans.

         “No.  God, you know how he is.  He just got this constipated look and left.”  Dean slumps down onto his bed and reaches for the remote.  Stiffly, Sam moves back to where he was sitting.  He opens his laptop back up and scrolls through the articles Dean had showed them.  Dean was right.  The case seemed pretty open and shut.  Two demons were picking up prostitutes off of a stretch of nearby highway and leaving them mutilated in hotel rooms.  He would have felt better about it if Cas had stuck around, but it still seemed like a one-and-done sort of a case once they tracked them down.

         “C’mon _Sam,”_ Dean whined, mouth half full of fries with the rest of the bag spilling on his chest.  He lay with his head propped up against the headboard and flipped through channels.  “You’ve been working all day.  Come watch a movie with me.”  He pats the bed beside him and motions for Sam to come sit with him.  Dean finds a Poltergeist marathon and they settle in.  Sam isn’t really sure why, but Dean had always liked the Poltergeist movies.  He remembers watching them with Dean on a hotel bed while their Dad was off on another hunt.  They’d lain on their bellies with their feet kicking the air eating some candy Dean had stolen from a gas station next door.  Dean had laughed at how much the movie had gotten wrong.  Sam had just stayed silent, grateful for Dean’s warmth beside him as the horror played out on the screen.

        Like before, Dean laughs through the movie.

         “Oh, come on!”  He talks over most of the movie and during the sequel Sam finally relaxes enough to doze off.


	2. Chapter 2

        Red, white and blue lights flashed as the ambulance arrived.  The owner was speaking to an officer, pointing a shaky hand toward down the road to the west.  Two EMTs stand near the body and one shines his flashlight into each eye.

         “John Doe.  Unconscious.  Breathing’s steady.  Pupil dialation is normal.  No sign of injury.”  They lean him down and shift him onto a stretcher.  “Owner says there was another guy with him but otherwise he didn’t see anything.” 

         “Send him down to Bellview Metro.”


	3. Chapter 3

        The next morning Sam jumps awake when the hotel door slams. 

         “Morning sunshine!” 

        Sam can smell bacon and coffee wafting from across the room as Dean dumps two styrofoam containers of food and a small cup of coffee on the bedside table.

         “Nnng,” Sam groans, rubbing his eyes.  “What time is it?” 

         “It’s 7:30.  C’mon.  We’ve got work to do.”  Dean sits on the edge of Sam’s unused bed and breaks open one of the containers.  He wrestles a forkful of watery scrambled eggs to his mouth.

         “Why are you even up?” Sam sits up, brushing his hair back out of his face and frowns at Dean.

         “I wasn’t tired.  The precinct’s open so we should be able to stop by and get some clues.”  Dean nods toward Sam’s food to hurry him along.

         “I’m just… surprised you’re up.”  Sam settles himself on the edge of the other bed and reaches for the coffee.

        From there, the case moves like clockwork.  Agents Bachman and Turner are debriefed by the local police and track the killers.  The vehicle is a 2003 Honda Sedan with three previous owners reported stolen six months ago.  That evening Sam meets two women on the street corner where the last victim was taken.  They laugh and flirt with him and he shows them a picture of the vehicle and cautions them to be careful in this area.  One of the women recognizes it from the picture and sends him to check a nearby bar. 

        Sam and Dean spot the vehicle outside PJ’s Liquor and wait until the two men approach.  Running up from behind, Sam corners one of the men, pressing Ruby’s knife against his throat.  The demon grins, teeth bloody from where he’d bitten his tongue as Sam slammed his head against the wall.  Sam nicks him with the blade and it sears orange white against his skin.  He kicks out at Sam’s knee and with a yell Sam staggers.  Dean slams his fist into the shorter demon’s jaw while he’s distracted.  He crumples momentarily and Dean approaches as Sam wrestles the other demon against the wall again and skewers him with the blade.  Sam twists the blade as it screams, light burning it from the inside.  He doesn’t see Dean approach behind him.  Strong hands grip his shoulders and Dean shoves him, causing his head to slam into the brick wall above the demon’s limp vessel.  A bright burst of pain blinds Sam momentarily before his knees buckle and he sinks down.

        Dean grabs his collar and hauls him up so he doesn’t slip down onto the demon’s empty vessel.  Hauling Sam up onto his shoulder, he drags his brother from the wall, laying him down on the concrete.  He can hear the other demon panting behind him.

         “Holy shit.”  Dean turns on it and his eyes shine like oil under the light of a yellow streetlamp.  “Holy _shit_ ,” it repeats, edging backwards.  Dean’s face is contorted with disgust as he lunges for the other demon.  With inhumane strength and the mark pounding against his arm, Dean pummels the demon with his elbows and fists.  Its nose bursts with a spray of blood that slaps across Dean’s cheeks like a Jackson Pollok.  Blood coats his knuckles and they start to slip as he’s punching into the wet pulpy mess of the demon’s face.  By the time the demon starts to sink down, Dean’s flushed and panting hot breaths against its face.  He lets it fall, hitting the ground hard as Dean searches in his pocket for his keys. 

        He drags the blood-soaked heap of the unconscious demon over and throws him into the trunk on top of their gear.  Its neck is twisted at an awkward angle as its body is pressed down and it takes two tries before the trunk will catch with the demon and their gear inside.  Satisfied, Dean heads for Sam and cradles him up into his arms.  He’s big, but Dean’s stronger than he used to be and he manages to lay Sam down across the backseat. 

        Sam fades in and out several times as they drive, his eyelids heavier than he can bear. 

        When he comes to, he’s laying against icy concrete.  The room is cold and whatever heat his body could create was sucked into the ground.  Everything aches from lying on the ground and his head feels swollen with blood like a big fat tick.  He reaches to rub it but something cool and hard is clasped around his right wrist.  Panicked, he jerks at it, eyes darting around the room.  On the ground he can see a devil’s trap painted in white and his cuff is attached to an iron chair bolted in the center of the room. There’s some slack in the chain so he’s able to get up and take a step or two away from it.  He jerks the chain again, this time so hard that mottled bruises start to rise around his wrist.

 _“DEAN!”_ he shouts, desperate.  He knows where he is.  There are only a couple reasons why he would be trapped here, and each one seems a little worse than the next.  “ _DEAN!”_ Sam spends twenty minutes trying to dislocate his thumb and slip the cuff, but it’s slammed tight around his wrist.  The cuff was designed to hold demons and monsters, and whoever or whatever cuffed him knew he’d try to get out.  His hand is bleeding and his feet are numb from the icy floor.  At some point he’d lost his shoes and all he had was a pair of threadbare old socks.  Exhausted from jerking the chain, hand dripping a steady rhythm of blood onto the floor, Sam sat, shuffling until he was as far as he could be into the corner of the room.

        He could feel himself fade in and out for a while, head still throbbing.  When he touched his free hand to the worst of it, he felt a significant knot of swelling covered by damn scabs.  He had dried blood on his face from where it had run down his cheek for a while and back into his hair.  Sam lay down for a while, exhausted and wracked with shivers.  He was hungry, stomach clenched and sour in his gut. 

        He thinks about Cas.  Whatever happened to Sam, and there are some pretty horrible alternatives, not hearing from Dean or Cas wasn’t a good sign.  He wants to hope that Dean isn’t the one who’s trapped him, but given where he is it seems likely.  Sam had never hoped so hard for his own possession.  He’d tried stretching out to see if he could reach out of the devil’s trap in case there was something inside him lying low, but the chain wasn’t long enough.  Deep down, he had a pretty good idea about what might have happened, but he wasn’t ready to give up on Dean just yet.  If it was Dean, Sam wondered whether he was left to die. 

        After an hour or so, he heard footsteps outside, and stumbled up to his feet.  The thick iron doors scrape across the cement floor as they open and the sound crawls its way up Sam’s spine.  Sam can see Dean with a tray of some sort in his hands.

         “Dean!  What the hell is going on?”  Sam jerks at the chain with renewed fervor.  It feels like it’s cutting into bone but he knows it’s barely broken the skin.  He can smell that Dean’s made stew and there’s a bowl of it on the tray.  The smell is hot and enticing, but Sam can’t look away from Dean.  He’s barely acknowledged him, turning to push the heavy doors shut behind him.  He pads over to where Sam can see him better and sets the tray down and shoves it across the floor.  Soup spills on the tray but the bowl was big enough that Sam isn’t heartbroken by the loss.  Closer now, Sam could see that there was also a water bottle, now covered with meaty juice. 

         “The circle…” Sam breathes, glaring at Dean now.  Dean’s standing across the room, easily a foot outside the eight foot circle.  Sam steadies himself and then steadying his wrist with his other hand, jerks the chain as hard as he can.  “Ggggahh,” he groans, fighting back a shout.  Dean’s just watching him unimpressed.

         “Eat your soup while it’s still hot, Sammy.”  He leans against the wall, arms folded in front of him.

         “This isn’t you, Dean.  Whatever’s happening, we can fix this.”  Dean just shrugs it off, leaving Sam alone again.  Dean.  Sam feels like he’s going to be sick.  Can he even enter the circle now?  What is the mark turning him into?  Where the hell is Cas?  Sam shouts in the empty room, hearing it bounce back at him in waves.  He holds his wrist tight in his other hand and moves back away from the doors.

        It’s hours before he sees Dean again.  Dean comes back with another tray and another big bowl of the stew.  The smell hits Sam first, and he groggily sits up.  He has no idea how long it’s been now, but his body aches from shaking and resting against the floor.  The smell of hot meat hits him full force when Dean scoots the tray across the floor a little more carefully this time.  His hand still never crosses over where the outer ring is painted on the floor and it hurts Sam as much as any physical blow. 

        “C’mon Sammy.  Eat up.  Got to keep you big and strong.”  Sam just stares down at the plate unmoving and back at Dean.

        “Dean, you can fight this.  We can fix this.”

        “Shh.”  Dean is surprisingly gentle when he tosses Sam a spoon.  Sam eyes it suspiciously when it clinks to the floor in front of him, but sensing an unspoken threat he eats.  “There we go,” Dean gives him a mocking smile.  The bowl is blissfully hot in his hands and he forgoes the spoon at first, drinking the broth.  There are thick chunks of meat floating in the rich oily fluid and Sam slurps one into his mouth, chewing, without ever taking his eyes off Dean.

        “What did you do to Cas?”

        “Cas is fine, if that’s what you’re worried about.  He’s not coming to help though.  I’ve reworked all the sigils.”

        “What do you want from me?”  Sam finds his hands shaking from the cold room and the wrongness in his brother’s eyes.  The soup’s heat in his stomach makes the coldness of his rest of his body that much more acute.  “What’s happening to you?”

        “Don’t be such a drama queen.  You’re still my brother.  Only now, I’m not sure I can trust you won’t try to gank me in the middle of the night.”  Sam would lower his eyes, but given the circumstances he can’t feel all that sorry.  He scowls at Dean who leans against the wall again, watching him eat.  Sam finishes the bowl and sets it on the tray.  He considers sliding it and the last tray back to Dean, but he leaves them put, hoping that Dean will come and get them.  Dean seems unsurprised and leaves Sam with the trays and the water bottle from last time.  Sam is alone again.

        Now that Sam has the spoon, he spends his time using it first as a fulcrum to try to break the cuff, but his wrist is swollen and the cuff unmoved.  Instead he shuffles over to the chair and slips the handle of the spoon into the first loop of the chain where is meets the chair.  When Sam forces it, the spoon bends and Sam carefully bends it back and tries again.  Before too long, the spoon bent horribly out of shape and the metal is too overworked and has lost its strength.  Sam forces himself to lie back down and wait.

        They fall into a rhythm for a while of silence and mealtimes.  Each time Dean brings him a meaty soup and Sam breaks each spoon until Dean stops bringing them.  Sam tries the trays, beating the plastic edge against where the chains screw into the chair.  He tugs again on the chain holding his wrist and it lets out a rumbling creak.  He’s strong as ever, desperate to escape, and when Dean sees that he’s ripped the arm off of the chair he smiles warmly at Sam who shudders. 

        Dean doesn’t show up for a while after that.  He misses mealtimes, only stopping in to check that Sam still has some water left.  Sam’s tired and humiliated.  It’s days or weeks until Sam’s twitching on the floor, carefully facing away from the corner where he’d been sick.  He’s so hungry he can’t think.  _Cas.  God, I hope you’re okay.  If you can hear me, please help.  Dean says he’s reworked the sigils and I hope that’s all.  He’s sick.  I think he’s going to hurt me, Cas._

Sam’s half awake, sweating and cold when he prays to Cas.  Cas won’t listen to him.  He just keeps looking down at Sam and Sam’s grateful he’s here.  He sleeps for a while in Cas’ shadow but when he awakes Cas is gone. 

 

        Later, after Sam awakens, he can hear grunts and footsteps outside.  He can hear rustling as the doors scrape loudly again across the floor.  There’s extra footsteps this time and Sam can smell him before he can see him.  The man’s head is covered with a black bag and he’s got his hands cuffed behind his back and Dean’s shoving him forward every couple steps.  His shirt’s soaked in blood and Sam looks intermittently between him and Dean while struggling to his feet. 

 

        Dean pulls a knife from his belt and makes a slow cut down its throat and the smell his Sam hard.  The chains ring as he jerks.

         “Jesus Christ,” Sam breathes.  He is tugging against the cuff and pulls himself against the back wall, looking surprisingly small for a man of his stature.  “Don’t do this.  Please, Dean,” Sam’s desperate now, pleading.  His eyes are wide when they catch Dean’s.  He can smell it now.  He can smell what the man is and he’s so tired, so desperately tired.  He knows what Dean fed him.  He’s known for the last couple days.

         “You’re my _brother_ Sam.  I want us to do this together.”  And Sam is so hungry.  It’s not just the demon blood in his system.  He hasn’t eaten for days or weeks and he’s weak and lightheaded.  He can feel it like a burning ache in his gut.  The empty gnawing as his body is slowly digesting itself.

 

        Dean shoves it into the circle with Sam.

       

        “You were right,” Dean coos at Sam.  “I didn’t understand it at the time, but the power… the hunger…  I get it now.”  Dean walks along the edge of the circle watching Sam.  “It doesn’t have to be him,” Dean offers, showing Sam the blade again, and pressing it into his arm until the skin dents around it.  Sam’s got his hands gripping tightly at his hair, face twisted in despair as Dean pulls the blade.  He offers his arm toward Sam who stays painfully still, eyes wide.  Sam breathes shallowly, trying not to taste it on his tongue.  Each breath seems like an eternity between him and what’s happening.  Dean relents with a scowl. 

        “Fine.  Him then.”  The demon’s kneeling, and Sam watches transfixed as blood pools out his neck wound and soaks into the grimy collar of its shirt.  Sam hasn’t had any water for the last two days and his throat sticks when he swallows.  Tentatively, he reaches to touch the spot with a shaking fingertip and pulls back.  He raises it toward his mouth, studying the dark smear transfixed and hesitates.

        “You’re going to die, Sam.  I’m not bringing you anything else.”  Dean is justifying it for Sam and Sam knows it.  His chest is two sizes too small around his lungs.  Dean waits across the room, cleaning out the grit from under his fingernails with the bloody blade, pretending he isn’t watching Sam as closely as he is.  When Sam’s mouth finally closes around the finger they both sigh.  Dean tosses his blade into the circle once Sam has fed.  He leaves Sam and the demon together and shuts the doors.

        Sam drinks the first demon dry in two days.  Dean checks in on him a couple times a day now, but he hasn’t once brought anything to eat or drink.  When the demon finally dies, Sam throws it out of the circle with blood-soaked hands and draws back into the corner tugging mindlessly at his chain. 

        Three days after that Sam hears the doors open again and there’s another demon bound with its face covered.  Dean waits until Sam is watching him and pulls out his knife, slicing deep into the demon’s neck.  Sam’s already shaking by the time Dean shoves it into the circle with him. 

 

Two weeks and three demons later, Dean comes back into the room.  There’s a body lying on the floor outside the circle and Sam watches him from the corner like a wild animal, mouth and chin rusty red with dried blood.  Sam’s eyes follow him as he pulls out his knife again.  Sam approaches him reflexively, blood pounding in his ears.  Dean presses the blade to his forearm and cuts. 

        Dean waits outside the circle until Sam approaches, jaw clenched and body cautious.  He holds his arm at eye level to show Sam the slow flow of the bright viscous fluid down his arm.  Sam jerks at the chain once more.  Smiling now, Dean lowers himself with the blade still in his hand and his arm leaving several drops of blood on the floor around him.  He scrapes the paint from the outside the circle but doesn’t step in. 

        Frustrated, Sam jerks harder at the chain and the cuff around his wrist snaps open.  Sam rubs at the swollen infected skin and walks slowly toward Dean.

        “Why?” he’s muttering it under his breath.  “Why are you doing this?”  Sam’s been muttering it for the last couple of days under his breath.  Dean reaches up to cup his hand against Sam’s face but Sam’s eyes never leave the blood on his forearm.  It’s closer now and while Dean embraces him, he leans down and presses his mouth to the wound. 

        “There you go.”  Dean’s brushing out Sam’s matted hair of his face with his hand while Sam sucks at the cut on his forearm.  Sam pulls back and looks at Dean, his filthy wet mouth open slightly. 

        “Dean.”  And Dean catches a glimpse of red teeth as he says it.  “What…”  Dean offers his arm once more.  Sam doesn’t even look away from Dean’s face, still muttering to himself with wide eyes.  “ _Dean_.” 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

        Dean laughed at Sam the first time he tried to use his power to exorcise him.  “Come on, man.  I’m not some low level goon,” Dean pulls up a sleeve to show Sam the puckered symbol on his arm.  It pulses when Dean’s around Sam, the mark calling out for him.  Dean rubs it absentmindedly.  “I’m not just some monster you gotta gank either.”  Dean reaches out and cups Sam’s face in his hands.  Sam looks down at him cooly as Dean presses their foreheads together.  Dean closes his eyes and sighs.

        “Why?”  Sam’s voice is deep when he says it and Dean looks into his face.   It’s been three weeks since Dean let him out of _the room_.  Sam still doesn’t walk past that part of the bunker.

        “It’s better this way.  This way we can get off the Merry-Go-Round of our fucked up shitshow of a life.  No more deals.  Neither of us die this way.”

        “And you care?  Where’s Cas?”  Sam’s jaw clenches after he’s said it, looking at Dean with disdain. 

        It’s not the first time they’ve fought.  Sam’s avoided Dean for the most part except for brief periods every day or two when Dean comes with the knife.

Dean hits him, hard in the eye.  Growling, Sam grabs Dean’s throat in his hands and they hit the ground.  Dean’s on top of Sam, using the position to layer his face with quick jabs.  Over his brow and cheekbone, the skin breaks and bleeds.  Breaking Sam’s grip on his neck with his forearms, Dean grabs Sam’s wrists. 

        “You’re not stronger than me.  Not yet.”  Dean’s leaning over him, breath dusting Sam’s cheek.  Dean lowers himself over Sam and licks the open wound on Sam’s face.  Underneath him Sam stills.  Dean continues pressing his tongue into the spot, tracing the trail of blood that’s slowly rolling toward Sam’s cheek.  Sam has to close his eyes as Dean licks the bruising already forming on his eyelid and brow.  Dean, without loosening his brutal grip on Sam’s wrists, forces his arms up and pins them over his head.

        “Dean,” Sam scowls, searing Dean with his eyes. 

        “It’s only ever been us,” Dean urged, so close to Sam that Sam can feel the heat radiating off his skin.  Sam isn’t sure if he can feel Dean’s pulse or the pulse of the mark.  Dean leans forward to kiss Sam and he bucks, elbowing Dean in the nose.  His blood runs down over his lips but he ignores it and leans in to press his mouth to Sam’s again.  This time Sam lays limp. 

        Sam doesn’t move as the blood presses in the crack between their lips for several seconds, watching Dean’s face unblinkingly.  Unphased, Dean opens his mouth and sucks at Sam’s lips.  He shifts his weight up onto his hips, straddling Sam.  Sam’s eyes follow him, not breaking eye contact while he flicks his tongue out to lick the blood off his lips before Dean’s on him again.  This time his mouth is slack beneath Dean’s, and Dean can force his lips apart with his tongue.  Dean’s mouth still tastes like the iron heat of his blood which is dripping more slowly down from his nose.  The scent is strong and heady, and Sam tilts his head to lick at the line which is now thickening on Dean’s upper lip.  Dean’s stubble is rough on his tongue as he flicks his tongue upward to follow the cooling line.  Dean bites at his lower lip, pressing his tongue back inside when Sam swallows. 

        He can taste himself now on Sam’s tongue and it moves against his.  Sam’s mouth opens against his and he’s pulled into the filthy embrace. 

        “Hnng,” Sam groans, wriggling his shoulders which are starting to pinch. 

        “Mhn,” Dean sighs, pressing his hips down against Sam.  Sam’s half-hard now in his jeans and Dean presses their erections together with a roll of his hips.  For a moment Sam fights against his hold, but Dean just presses his weight down harder against Sam.  His zipper is hard against his erection, but it’s hardly even a distraction from the friction.  As he rubs himself against Sam, he can feel Sam growing harder.  Predictably, Sam feels huge.  Even through his jeans Dean can feel the girth of Sam, huge and hard against him.  It had been something that Dean thought about a couple times _before_ and he had shaken the thought off.  As a demon, Dean could remember himself and his thoughts before the blackness had sandblasted him into another shape.  He’d thought about Sam, but what had been a morbid curiosity from sharing his life and himself so completely with Sam, had bloomed into an unavoidable need to possess and devour. 

        One night while he’d slept across the room from his brother, he’d awakened, confused and aroused, shocked by his own thoughts.  The bloodlust, the anger, and the hunger had all become an immortal itch he could never erase, but _Sam._ Disgusted, Dean reached for his phone to check the time and despite there being little light he could see and be seen by black insectoid eyes in the dim glass reflection.

        Now, Sam was warm and strong underneath him.  Dean brushed Sam’s hair out of the way with the tip of his nose and bit hard against the muscular column of his neck. 

        “Hngg,” Sam growled, bucking against Dean.  The skin reddened and purpled as Dean bit again.  Dean had to force Sam’s wrists back against the ground as he bucked up, rolling their hips together.  Dean hummed, lips soft against Sam’s neck for a moment before scraping with his teeth and biting again.

        “Fffff,” Sam breathed, “Fffuck.”  He was rubbing himself against Dean now, face red from straining under Dean’s grip.

        “Come on,” Dean taunted, scraping his teeth along Sam’s jaw before latching on _hard._   Sam howled underneath him, body arching off of the floor as his hips stuttered against Dean and he could feel Sam growing warm and damp.  Rubbing hard against Sam’s growing softness he thrust down into him, panting.  Sam was lax in his grip but Dean didn’t lessen his grip on Sam’s bruised wrists. 

        “Sam,” Dean groaned, jeans wet now from Sam’s release and the thrust against the dampness.  With a stutter he rubbed again, letting his forehead thump against Sam’s muscular chest and he was cumming.  “ _Jesus_ ,” he huffed into Sam’s shirt, letting go of Sam’s wrists and picking himself up with tired arms.  Sam laid still, arms over his head with the hem of his shirt raked up from Dean’s rutting.  The crotch of his jeans was dark and damp.  Dean stood over him for a moment, taking in Sam’s glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, livid bruises of perfect casts of Dean’s teeth against his neck and jawline.  His mouth was slack and he breathed slowly out of beautifully swollen lips.  Satisfied, Dean nudged him with his boot before leaving to shower. 

        When he came back, Sam was no longer on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want to read more of this? This story has the potential to grow quite a bit. If you have any thoughts, please comment below. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

        Around a week later Sam packs a bag while Dean is down the hall watching TV.  He grabs his army surplus duffel bag from the closet and rips the zipper open before throwing it on the bed.  He works quickly, grabbing just a couple balled up t-shirts, some underwear, and a small armory.  Dean’s still carrying the demon slaying blade so Sam will have to be careful if he feeds.  He grabs a flask of holy water as a final thought and slowly opens his door.

        He can’t see or hear Dean, but the TV’s still blaring from his room.  He walks the long route, walking through the kitchen and through the bunker so he doesn’t have to try and sneak past Dean’s open door.  The steps up to ground level are iron, and he has to take them slowly to avoid loud, clanging footsteps.  He’s got the bunker door half open by the time Dean grabs him by the elbow and jerks him around.

        “Where you goin’, Sam?”  Sam jerks his arm out of Dean’s grip but Dean’s boxing him in against the wall. 

        “I’m not leaving you, Dean.”  Sam shrugs his duffle strap further up onto his shoulder.

        “I know you’re not,” Dean grumbles darkly, glaring up at Sam.  “You’re not leaving.”  Before Sam can flinch, Dean’s fist crashes into his face.  Sam blocks the next blow but another follows it and he can feel the bright burst of pain as his nose crunches.  “Need to be able to trust you…”  Dean’s voice is so soft as Sam leans back against the wall.  Sam nods, shooting one final glance to the door before slinking back to his room.  He can’t fight Dean.  Not the way he is now. 

 

        Sam makes an effort to spend more time around Dean over the next week.  He still hangs back, waiting by an open door while Dean sits and eats or watches TV.  After several days of this, Dean calls him over to the couch while he’s watching TV and extends his wrist toward Sam’s mouth.  The skin is unblemished and unbroken and Sam just looks up at him curiously.  Dean hasn’t fed him for the last day and a half.

        “I don’t have the blade right now.  Bite it.”  Sam looks away and cups Dean’s wrist to his mouth.  They haven’t done this before, and somehow pressing his lips to Dean’s skin without the wound and the trail of blood to follow seems so much more intimate and demeaning.  He can feel the heat of Dean’s gaze on the back of his neck.  _This…_   Sam holds Dean’s wrist and studies the soft blue lines of his veins.  He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t want this—that he can resist this.  Sensing his hesitation, Dean pulls his hair, hard.  He’s twisting Sam’s neck to the side, iron grip so tight he can hold turn with it. 

        “Sammy,” Dean growls in warning but Sam’s jaw is clenched tight.  Dragging his hair, he pulls Sam over to kneel in front of him.  “Don’t make me hurt you.”  Dean’s pressing his wrist tight to Sam’s mouth, jerking his hand in Sam’s hair when he tries to turn away.

         “Dean, please…”  His voice is low and soft, his teeth scratching lightly against Dean’s wrist as he says it. 

        “ _Sammy,”_ it’s a final warning.  Sam’s hands reach up again and he’s shaking now.  He wonders Dean would put him back in the room and the thought is like ice in his veins.  He thinks it won’t be all that different, once he opens the wound.  After a few shaky breaths, he grips Dean’s wrist tight against his lips and _bites._

        Dean’s stroking his hair as the blood bursts into his mouth all at once and Sam can’t do anything but hold on.  This is different.  _Intense._ He’s blinded by the sensation.

        He’s traced a trail of blood from the coolest spot with the tip of his tongue to the hot heat of a slowly bleeding gash, and opened a narrow slit with his blade to swallow around, but this is completely unlike that.  All he can do is accept it, mouth open to the short pulses from an opened vein.  The heat of it throbs inside his mouth and throat and he’s half hard when Dean pulls him off.  He stares blankly at the carpet, face flushed with a smear of blood coating him from the tip of his nose to his chin. 

        Dean untangles a blanket from the couch cushions and holds it wrapped tight around his wrist, looming over Sam while he kneels.  Sam waits, unmoving as the bloodflow slows and then scabs.  After unwrapping it, Dean checks the dual arcs gouged into his wrist.  Satisfied, he tosses the blanket and runs his hands through Sam’s hair a couple times before tilting his head up.  Beneath him, Sam’s eyes are blown wide and his lips, still soaked with Dean’s blood are gaping open.  Cupping Sam’s face in his hands, Dean runs his thumb along the thick red coating until it reaches the corner of Sam’s mouth.  Sam’s watching him now, eyes unfocused and Dean pokes his thumb inside.  He wipes it off on the soft landscape of Sam’s tongue before slipping it back out.  He traces his wet thumb back through the mess and Sam’s mouth opens to meet him.  He cleans Sam’s face that way, feeding Sam with his fingers and Sam stays placid and lets him.

 

        Two days later Dean knocks on Sam’s bedroom door and announces that he’s found a hunt.  Sam grabs his bag, still mostly packed from the last time he’d tried to leave and throws in a couple pairs of socks. 

        They drive for four hours until they reach Rock Creek State Historical Park in Kennedy Nebraska.  Three families have gone missing from the park in the last month and Sam and Dean shrug on their FBI suits and hit up the ranger station.  None of the bodies have turned up yet so the ranger reports it a missing person’s case.  Dean rolls his eyes at Sam as the rangers hem and haw about animal attacks and grizzly sightings before they set out into the woods. 

        The first family was taken two miles from a campground, and Sam and Dean question the campers and discover that there’s an old shack another three miles into the wood.  Armed with their guns and machete, they cut a path through the thick underbrush heading.  It takes two hours but they manage to spot the shack.  The structure is a dilapidated cabin with rotted wood siding.  Machetes at the ready they kick open the door.

        The inside of the cabin is somehow worse that the outside.  Small pinpricks of light flicker in through holes in the roof, but the aeration does little to reduce the smell.  Two of the missing campers were still hanging unconscious from some of the exposed beams, but the others were piled together in a heap on the ground.  Dean counted twelve bodies including seven children of varying age.  Flies buzz around the earliest victims, and Sam watches a fly land on the dry surface of a young girl’s eye.  He nods to Dean who checks quickly from room to room as Sam cuts the two survivors down.  The woman stirs in his arms as he lowers her to the ground.

        “Please…  P-Please…” She sobs quietly, refusing to look at Sam as maneuvers her checking for any bites.  Satisfied, he leaves her to cut down a middle-aged man who’s still hanging.  He’s limp as Sam checks him over, and Sam leaves him with the other woman as he goes and checks on Dean.

        He runs into Dean as he’s leaving the kitchen. 

        “Vamps,” Dean grunts.

        “More than we thought.  Probably a nest.”  They head back to the living room where the woman has pulled the older man to his feet.  He’s semi-conscious now and they turn to look at Sam and Dean.  They follow Sam and Dean back to the campgrounds and Dean points at a shocked woman with two kids and shouts for her to call 911.  With survivors out of the way, Sam and Dean wait in the cabin for several hours until nightfall.  By the time the door swings open, Dean’s machete is already mid arc and the first vamp’s head hits the ground and rolls.  The next vamp kicks the body into Dean who bats it away before throwing her against the wall.  Sam’s there when she lands and he lobs her head off, with a downward swing like a guillotine. 

They tear through vamp after vamp until there’s another fourteen bodies littering the floor.  Dean’s got a gash on his face from where one of them slashed at him with its nails before Sam raised his hand.  Dean watched Sam transfixed as he held the woman’s body a foot in the hair and with a flick of his wrist, snapped her neck.  Her blood splattered against the wall as Dean finished the job.

 

                The next two hunts are even easier, and if Dean picks jobs they normally wouldn’t take on their own, Sam doesn’t comment.  They come home, grimy and bathed in blood, occasionally with a meal for Sam hogtied in the trunk.

 

 

                It’s six weeks until Cas catches up with them. 

                He corners Sam outside a diner while Dean orders some food.  Cas looks as bad as Sam has ever seen him.

         “Sam.  Sam, I’m sorry.  You were right.”  Sam just stares at him.  “We need to do something about Dean.”  Cas shoots another panicked look inside the diner and watches as Dean flirts with the cashier.  Sam’s relaxed, leaning against the Impala and watching Cas placidly.  Sam just shrugs one shoulder.

         “Dean’s fine.”  Sam’s voice is ruff from disuse.  Cas grabs his shoulder, jostling him, and he peels Cas’ hand off one finger at a time.  Cas is gaping at him now, and taking in Sam’s scathing look and Dean heading for the door, he bolts.

               

        Over the next couple weeks, Sam and Dean cut red swathes across the continental US, steamrolling vamps and werewolves and demons.  When Sam finds a demon tailing him one night, he rips it out of its vessel and burns the ash on the ground. 

        After the first, Sam and Dean start to spot them occasionally.  Once spotted, the demons break and run and Dean takes great pleasure in watching Sam drag them back with an outstretch hand.  He drinks several of them, but soon Sam’s had his fill and the demons keep coming so he practices making their vessels pop.

        Sam is covered in viscera and demon bits when they return to the hotel after they ran in to a particularly unfortunate demon.  He shoves Dean against the door and ruts against him as Dean drags his fingers through the mess and feeds Sam.

 

        While working a shifter case in northern Utah, Sam and Dean settle in for drinks at a small town bar.  Dean flirts with the bartender and everything else with legs while Sam watches calmly, drinking a beer.  After a couple swigs, Sam stands and heads off to look for the bathroom.  Following a tacky wood sign that reads _Fellows_ Sam heads for the urinals. 

        The lights are dim so no one else notices the faint flicker as Crowley appears in the booth across from Dean.  Crowley smiles humorlessly at Dean and motions the bartender for a drink. 

         “Hoping we could chat.” 

        “We don’t _chat,_ Crowley.”  Dean leans against the bar ignoring the way his elbow sticks a little.

        “No, and I think you and I both appreciate that under normal circumstances.”  Crowley’s drink is set in front of him and he shoots the bartender a wink.  “Thanks, dear.” 

        “Unless you want to talk Metatron, I’ve got jack to say to you.”  Crowley nods, taking a moment to look around the room.

        “I was hoping we could discuss the moose.”  Dean gives him a side eye, but Crowley soldiers on.   “I hear from my little canaries that you’ve been _busy_ lately.  Interesting things about both of you lately, but it’s Sam that’s got them all a-flutter.”  Dean’s expression doesn’t change and he watches Crowley flatly over the lip of his beer.

        “So?” 

        Crowley’s eyes bug a little with frustration and his voice cuts high when he speaks.  “He’s _eating them_.”  Dean just nods a little and leans across the table, eyes flicking black.

        “Like I said, _so?”_ Crowley rolls his eyes. 

        “I know what the mark’s done.  Frankly, it’s a good look for you.  But we’re talking about _Sam._ Whatever he is doesn’t even have a name besides abomination.  If he’s tearing through my peons like tissue paper, how long until he tears into you?” 

        “Maybe he just doesn’t like your footsoldiers.  He’s been quite the gentleman with me.”  Crowley goggles a little and Dean sneers.

         “ _Wow._ I did not want to know that.”  Crowley slips a folded bill under his glass, watching Sam approach, looking around the room with a pensive look.  “I mean it, Dean.  I’m sure you’re real tough stuff with the mark, but you don’t even know what _he_ is.” 

        Dean feels the heat radiating off Sam’s skin as he stands behind Dean, looming over him to glare down at Crowley. 

        “Crowley,” Sam acknowledges, stealing the beer from Dean’s hand and taking a swig.  Crowley nods, turning to leave but he can feel Sam pulling at him before he’s even turned around.  Crowley turns back to Sam, hands on his hips and Sam raises his hand.  Several patrons at the bar start dumping smoke and the humans start screaming and pouring out of the bar.  Sam spots one he’d missed trying to leave and snaps, eyes locked on Crowley as it bursts, splattering across the wall.  Crowley sends Dean a disgusted look.

        “Like I said, Dean.  Good chat.”  Crowley snapped out of the bar, leaving Sam and Dean alone except for a handful of bodies on the floor and a hell of a mess on the wall.  Dean reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey before they strolled out and headed for the next town over.


	6. Chapter 6

        Around a week later Sam packs a bag while Dean is down the hall watching TV.  He grabs his army surplus duffel bag from the closet and rips the zipper open before throwing it on the bed.  He works quickly, grabbing just a couple balled up t-shirts, some underwear, and a small armory.  Dean’s still carrying the demon slaying blade so Sam will have to be careful if he feeds.  He grabs a flask of holy water as a final thought and slowly opens his door.

        He can’t see or hear Dean, but the TV’s still blaring from his room.  He walks the long route, walking through the kitchen and through the bunker so he doesn’t have to try and sneak past Dean’s open door.  The steps up to ground level are iron, and he has to take them slowly to avoid loud, clanging footsteps.  He’s got the bunker door half open by the time Dean grabs him by the elbow and jerks him around.

        “Where you goin’, Sam?”  Sam jerks his arm out of Dean’s grip but Dean’s boxing him in against the wall. 

        “I’m not leaving you, Dean.”  Sam shrugs his duffle strap further up onto his shoulder.

        “I know you’re not,” Dean grumbles darkly, glaring up at Sam.  “You’re not leaving.”  Before Sam can flinch, Dean’s fist crashes into his face.  Sam blocks the next blow but another follows it and he can feel the bright burst of pain as his nose crunches.  “Need to be able to trust you…”  Dean’s voice is so soft as Sam leans back against the wall.  Sam nods, shooting one final glance to the door before slinking back to his room.  He can’t fight Dean.  Not the way he is now. 

 

        Sam makes an effort to spend more time around Dean over the next week.  He still hangs back, waiting by an open door while Dean sits and eats or watches TV.  After several days of this, Dean calls him over to the couch while he’s watching TV and extends his wrist toward Sam’s mouth.  The skin is unblemished and unbroken and Sam just looks up at him curiously.  Dean hasn’t fed him for the last day and a half.

        “I don’t have the blade right now.  Bite it.”  Sam looks away and cups Dean’s wrist to his mouth.  They haven’t done this before, and somehow pressing his lips to Dean’s skin without the wound and the trail of blood to follow seems so much more intimate and demeaning.  He can feel the heat of Dean’s gaze on the back of his neck.  _This…_   Sam holds Dean’s wrist and studies the soft blue lines of his veins.  He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t want this—that he can resist this.  Sensing his hesitation, Dean pulls his hair, hard.  He’s twisting Sam’s neck to the side, iron grip so tight he can hold turn with it. 

        “Sammy,” Dean growls in warning but Sam’s jaw is clenched tight.  Dragging his hair, he pulls Sam over to kneel in front of him.  “Don’t make me hurt you.”  Dean’s pressing his wrist tight to Sam’s mouth, jerking his hand in Sam’s hair when he tries to turn away.

         “Dean, please…”  His voice is low and soft, his teeth scratching lightly against Dean’s wrist as he says it. 

        “ _Sammy,”_ it’s a final warning.  Sam’s hands reach up again and he’s shaking now.  He wonders Dean would put him back in the room and the thought is like ice in his veins.  He thinks it won’t be all that different, once he opens the wound.  After a few shaky breaths, he grips Dean’s wrist tight against his lips and _bites._

        Dean’s stroking his hair as the blood bursts into his mouth all at once and Sam can’t do anything but hold on.  This is different.  _Intense._ He’s blinded by the sensation.

        He’s traced a trail of blood from the coolest spot with the tip of his tongue to the hot heat of a slowly bleeding gash, and opened a narrow slit with his blade to swallow around, but this is completely unlike that.  All he can do is accept it, mouth open to the short pulses from an opened vein.  The heat of it throbs inside his mouth and throat and he’s half hard when Dean pulls him off.  He stares blankly at the carpet, face flushed with a smear of blood coating him from the tip of his nose to his chin. 

        Dean untangles a blanket from the couch cushions and holds it wrapped tight around his wrist, looming over Sam while he kneels.  Sam waits, unmoving as the bloodflow slows and then scabs.  After unwrapping it, Dean checks the dual arcs gouged into his wrist.  Satisfied, he tosses the blanket and runs his hands through Sam’s hair a couple times before tilting his head up.  Beneath him, Sam’s eyes are blown wide and his lips, still soaked with Dean’s blood are gaping open.  Cupping Sam’s face in his hands, Dean runs his thumb along the thick red coating until it reaches the corner of Sam’s mouth.  Sam’s watching him now, eyes unfocused and Dean pokes his thumb inside.  He wipes it off on the soft landscape of Sam’s tongue before slipping it back out.  He traces his wet thumb back through the mess and Sam’s mouth opens to meet him.  He cleans Sam’s face that way, feeding Sam with his fingers and Sam stays placid and lets him.


	7. Chapter 7

        Two days later Dean knocks on Sam’s bedroom door and announces that he’s found a hunt.  Sam grabs his bag, still mostly packed from the last time he’d tried to leave and throws in a couple pairs of socks. 

        They drive for four hours until they reach Rock Creek State Historical Park in Kennedy Nebraska.  Three families have gone missing from the park in the last month and Sam and Dean shrug on their FBI suits and hit up the ranger station.  None of the bodies have turned up yet so the ranger reports it a missing person’s case.  Dean rolls his eyes at Sam as the rangers hem and haw about animal attacks and grizzly sightings before they set out into the woods. 

        The first family was taken two miles from a campground, and Sam and Dean question the campers and discover that there’s an old shack another three miles into the wood.  Armed with their guns and machete, they cut a path through the thick underbrush heading.  It takes two hours but they manage to spot the shack.  The structure is a dilapidated cabin with rotted wood siding.  Machetes at the ready they kick open the door.

        The inside of the cabin is somehow worse that the outside.  Small pinpricks of light flicker in through holes in the roof, but the aeration does little to reduce the smell.  Two of the missing campers were still hanging unconscious from some of the exposed beams, but the others were piled together in a heap on the ground.  Dean counted twelve bodies including seven children of varying age.  Flies buzz around the earliest victims, and Sam watches a fly land on the dry surface of a young girl’s eye.  He nods to Dean who checks quickly from room to room as Sam cuts the two survivors down.  The woman stirs in his arms as he lowers her to the ground.

        “Please…  P-Please…” She sobs quietly, refusing to look at Sam as maneuvers her checking for any bites.  Satisfied, he leaves her to cut down a middle-aged man who’s still hanging.  He’s limp as Sam checks him over, and Sam leaves him with the other woman as he goes and checks on Dean.

        He runs into Dean as he’s leaving the kitchen. 

        “Vamps,” Dean grunts.

        “More than we thought.  Probably a nest.”  They head back to the living room where the woman has pulled the older man to his feet.  He’s semi-conscious now and they turn to look at Sam and Dean.  They follow Sam and Dean back to the campgrounds and Dean points at a shocked woman with two kids and shouts for her to call 911.  With survivors out of the way, Sam and Dean wait in the cabin for several hours until nightfall.  By the time the door swings open, Dean’s machete is already mid arc and the first vamp’s head hits the ground and rolls.  The next vamp kicks the body into Dean who bats it away before throwing her against the wall.  Sam’s there when she lands and he lobs her head off, with a downward swing like a guillotine. 

They tear through vamp after vamp until there’s another fourteen bodies littering the floor.  Dean’s got a gash on his face from where one of them slashed at him with its nails before Sam raised his hand.  Dean watched Sam transfixed as he held the woman’s body a foot in the hair and with a flick of his wrist, snapped her neck.  Her blood splattered against the wall as Dean finished the job.

 

                The next two hunts are even easier, and if Dean picks jobs they normally wouldn’t take on their own, Sam doesn’t comment.  They come home, grimy and bathed in blood, occasionally with a meal for Sam hogtied in the trunk.


	8. Chapter 8

                It’s six weeks until Cas catches up with them. 

                He corners Sam outside a diner while Dean orders some food.  Cas looks as bad as Sam has ever seen him.

         “Sam.  Sam, I’m sorry.  You were right.”  Sam just stares at him.  “We need to do something about Dean.”  Cas shoots another panicked look inside the diner and watches as Dean flirts with the cashier.  Sam’s relaxed, leaning against the Impala and watching Cas placidly.  Sam just shrugs one shoulder.

         “Dean’s fine.”  Sam’s voice is ruff from disuse.  Cas grabs his shoulder, jostling him, and he peels Cas’ hand off one finger at a time.  Cas is gaping at him now, and taking in Sam’s scathing look and Dean heading for the door, he bolts.

               

        Over the next couple weeks, Sam and Dean cut red swathes across the continental US, steamrolling vamps and werewolves and demons.  When Sam finds a demon tailing him one night, he rips it out of its vessel and burns the ash on the ground. 

        After the first, Sam and Dean start to spot them occasionally.  Once spotted, the demons break and run and Dean takes great pleasure in watching Sam drag them back with an outstretch hand.  He drinks several of them, but soon Sam’s had his fill and the demons keep coming so he practices making their vessels pop.

        Sam is covered in viscera and demon bits when they return to the hotel after they ran in to a particularly unfortunate demon.  He shoves Dean against the door and ruts against him as Dean drags his fingers through the mess and feeds Sam.

 

        While working a shifter case in northern Utah, Sam and Dean settle in for drinks at a small town bar.  Dean flirts with the bartender and everything else with legs while Sam watches relaxed, drinking a beer.  After a couple swigs, Sam stands and heads off to look for the bathroom.  Following a tacky wood sign that reads ‘ _Fellows’,_ Sam heads for the urinals. 

        The lights are dim so no one else notices the faint flicker as Crowley appears at the bar next to Dean.  Crowley smiles humorlessly at him and motions the bartender for a drink. 

         “Hoping we could chat.” 

        “We don’t _chat,_ Crowley.”  Dean leans against the bar ignoring the way his elbow sticks a little.

        “No, and I think you and I both appreciate that under normal circumstances.”  Crowley’s drink is set in front of him and he shoots the bartender a wink.  “Thanks, dear.” 

        “Unless you want to talk Metatron, I’ve got jack to say to you.”  Crowley nods, taking a moment to look around the room.

        “I was hoping we could discuss the moose.”  Dean gives him a side eye, but Crowley soldiers on.   “I hear from my little canaries that you’ve been _busy_.  Interesting things about both of you lately, but it’s Sam that’s got them all a-flutter.”  Dean’s expression doesn’t change and he watches Crowley flatly over the lip of his beer.

        “So?” 

        Crowley’s eyes bug a little with frustration and his voice cuts high when he speaks.  “He’s _eating them_.”  Dean just nods a little and leans across the table, eyes flicking black.

        “Like I said, _so?”_ Crowley rolls his eyes. 

        “I know what the mark’s done.  Frankly, it’s a good look for you.  But we’re talking about _Sam._ Whatever he is doesn’t even have a name besides abomination.  If he’s tearing through my peons like tissue paper, how long until he tears into you?” 

        “Maybe he just doesn’t like your footsoldiers.  He’s been quite the gentleman with me.”  Crowley goggles a little and Dean sneers.

         “ _Wow._ I did not want to know that.”  Crowley slips a folded bill under his glass, watching Sam approach, looking around the room with a pensive look.  “I mean it, Dean.  I’m sure you’re real tough stuff with the mark, but you don’t even know what _he_ is.” 

        Dean feels the heat radiating off Sam’s skin as he stands behind Dean, looming over him to glare down at Crowley. 

        “Crowley,” Sam acknowledges, stealing the beer from Dean’s hand and taking a swig.  Crowley nods, turning to leave but he can feel Sam pulling at him before he’s even turned around.  Crowley turns back to Sam, hands on his hips and Sam raises his hand.  Several patrons at the bar start dumping smoke and the humans start screaming and pouring out of the bar.  Sam spots one he’d missed trying to leave and snaps, eyes locked on Crowley as it bursts, splattering across the wall.  Crowley sends Dean a disgusted look.

        “Like I said, Dean.  Good chat.”  Crowley snapped out of the bar, leaving Sam and Dean alone except for a handful of bodies on the floor and a hell of a mess on the wall.  Dean reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey before they strolled out and headed for the next town over.

       

 

 

        “Castiel.  _Cas.”_ It isn’t the voice he was hoping for, but the prayer reached his ears none the less.  He traced it to a woodland outside northern Oregon and landed with a beat of his wings.

        “There you are.  Where the hell have you been?”  Cas is surprised to see him looking flustered. 

        “Crowley.”  Cas studies him with his brows furrowed and inhumanely blue eyes boring holes through Crowley’s vessel.  Crowley straightens his coat, composing himself a little.

        “Your little doggie’s snapped his leash.  I’m telling you now, get him and that—that _freak_ under control.  I won’t enjoy killing Dean now that he’s so wonderfully darkside, but Sam has to go.  _Deal_ with it _,_ or I will _.”_

        “You can’t fight them.  You won’t win.”  It’s a statement of fact.  Crowley looks at him for a moment, ready to argue, but relents.  Cas’s eyes are sad when Crowley snaps away.

 

        Cas tracks Sam and Dean on their hunts, doing his best to remain unaffected by the sheer body count the boys are leaving behind.  Neither Sam nor Dean has hurt a human civilian in any lasting way, but they’re more aggressive and reckless than Cas has ever seen them.  Sam’s powers are growing day by day as he welcomes them a little at a time with every impromptu exorcism and beheading.  Cas can feel Sam’s mind reaching out in his dreams and he does his best to steer clear of Sam’s visions until he’s had a chance to try reaching out to Dean.

 

 

        Cas corners him one night when he’s left Sam to pick up more beer but Cas has to leave quickly as Dean tries to fight him on sight.  He’s amazed to find his nose bleeding after the confrontation.  Dean shouts at him, after he’s gone.

        “Stay out of this, Cas!”

 

        With Dean on the lookout now, Cas accepts the phantom touch of Sam’s mind as it reaches out one night.  Sam is standing out in a field under a blanket of stars and he turns to look at Cas.  Even with Sam standing still he can feel power cascading off of him as Sam watches him expressionlessly.

        “Sam.” 

        _Cas_.  He can feel the word press into the back of his skull. 

         “We don’t know what exactly the blood’s doing to you.  You might become a demon like Dean or you might become something a lot worse.”  In response, the ground shakes beneath his feet and the stars in the sky are lost in darkness.  “Let me help you! _”_   He has to shout over the noise and Sam’s eyes flash yellow.

        _First I save Dean._


	9. Chapter 9

         Sam can feel it when they hunt.  There’s a pressure, like an elastic wall in his mind and he pushes against it every time he uses his powers.  With Dean sleeping in the bed next to him, he tentatively prods it.  Dean jumps awake beside him as every bulb in the room shatters. 

          “What are you doing?”  Dean’s looking around the room at the shattered glass littering the nightstand and carpet.  His voice is thick with sleep, but he leans over to wipe Sam’s nose.  “You’re bleeding.”  Sam watches Dean’s blood covered fingers and Dean huffs, wiping it on his shirt.  “Yeah, okay.  Fine.”  He holds his arm out to Sam and Sam accepts it slowly.  He can see the shiny pink skin in dual arcs on Dean’s wrists finally healing and he presses it against his lips.  Slotting his teeth into the same grooves, he bites. 

         Just as before hot heat fills his mouth and he closes his eyes to focus on the sensation. Dean’s still lying beside him with his arm stretch out for Sam.  He watches Sam for several moments, ignoring the searing pain screaming up his arm.  When Sam’s hair falls down into his eyes he brushes it away.

 

         “Sam Winchester,” a voice called from behind him and Sam turned to see several people.  Even without their inhuman stillness and the unlikeliness that someone would approach Sam calmly at this time of night while he was digging in a graveyard, Sam could smell them.  Avoiding pretense, the demon who addressed him flicked his eyes to black.  The vessel was of medium height and build and Sam raised his hand slowly against it.

         Instead of running or moving toward him the vessel slowly fell to its knees.  The others, a group of around eight people of different ages followed and Sam found himself looming over the group. 

         “What do you want?”  He asks, hand still held out with his palm toward them as the first demon bows its head.

         “Crowley is weak.  His grasp on hell is tenuous with the news of your return.”

         “I have no interest in hell.”  Sam drops the shovel out of his other hand and when it hits the ground he sees one of the demons flinch.

         “We are aware.  But a kingdom needs a strong king and you were Azazel’s best and Lucifer’s vessel.  Along we our allegiance, we would offer you as many of our enemies as you can drink.”  One of the demons in the body of a small but shapely one woman stands still keeping her head bowed. 

         “Take her.  Do with her what you will.  She is one of thousands who would sacrifice themselves for you should you usurp Crowley and take the throne.”

         Sam reaches out and grabs the woman’s body by the throat from five feet away.  He chokes her, watching as her black eyes bulge as he forces her to vomit the demon out.  The smoke piles on top of itself on the ground as it burns and singes the grass beneath.  The other demons wait unmoving still kneeling around him as she screams in his grasp before he drops her onto the ground in a fleshy heap.  The leader looks up at him through his vessels blue eyes, face open and unmoved by the display. 

         “We will be ready when you choose to take your place.” 

 

         Dean meets him a little later carrying another shovel and a flashlight.  When the beam catches the singed spot near where Sam is digging, Dean nudges it with his shoe before moving on.  When they catch up the ghoul they’d been tracking, Dean hacks it into fifteen differently sized pieces with the first blade.

 

         Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed watching late night television when there was a knock at the door.  With a huff he stood, walking over and as he twisted the handle the door kicked into him.  Dean was laughing as it hit him, and he took a step back to allow his guests to enter.  There was an average looking middle aged man and two women and each had black glossy eyes.  The man attacked, lunging at Dean blade first.  He bats them around, sending one flying into the wall with a backhanded swing of his fist.  It staggers, arm hinged and swinging freely from a new joint in his forearm and Dean can see bone jutting out through the skin.

         “Sam will ascend the throne,” he huffs zealously, and Dean notices as the demon weakens that the vessel has blue eyes.  He pulls the first blade from his belt and with his hand tangled in its hair he severs its head.  He ignores the other two demons popping away in favor of looking at it hanging from his hand.  He doesn’t recognize the demon, but it clearly knew Sam so he leaves it propped like a mantelpiece on top of the TV.  When Sam comes back with two bags of food, Dean looks up at him from where he’s lying in bed watching an X-Files rerun.  Sam throws him a bag and gives the head a disgusted look.  There’s blood spattered in a clean arc across the wall by his bed and Sam has to step over the demon’s body to sit.

         “Kinda wasteful, don’t you think?”  Dean just shrugs at him, chewing with his mouth full. 

 

         Sam can sense the ambush coming a week before it happens.  He grabs an empty gallon jug on his way out the door.

         “I’ll be back in a little bit, Dean.  I’m going to grab some coffee.  You want something?”  Dean looks at him for several seconds, taking in the jug and Sam’s loose expression. 

         “Nah.  Enjoy yourself.”  Sam heads up the stairs and settling the jug beside him in the passenger seat he travels to meet what he’s foretold.  He drives leisurely, giving Crowley and his demons time to spot him before pulling in to a gas station about a mile off the freeway.  Crowley and around fifteen other demons are waiting by the time he gets out and he drops the jug at Crowley’s feet.  It makes a soft hollow sound as the plastic hits the concrete.

         “Sam,” Crowley greets, and the demons shift nervously looking from him to Sam.  Sam looks from face to face, surrounded by countless faces with the same eyes.  Some of the demons are poised, ready for a fight and Sam raises his hand slowly from his side.

         “What are you idiots waiting for?”  With the order given, the demons rush Sam.  The three closest to Sam burn from the inside and Sam studies their bones through the shadows they cast in their skin.  Sam closes his hand into a fist in front of him and the other demons stop, held in place by an iron grip.  Sam looks at Crowley and smiles, ignoring the screams around him as twelve demons howl and turn to dust.  Crowley stares back, face a tight mask as he pulls his blade from a pocket inside his coat.  With his way cleared, Sam steps over several bodies until he is standing face to face with Crowley. 

         “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen if you kill me?”  Sam reaches down to grab his jug where it’s been kicked over on the ground. 

         “I don’t really care.  You’re just another demon, Crowley.  Don’t forget that.”  Sam raised his hand to Crowley as Crowley tried to smoke out.  Crowley’s vessel gasped, choking in the line of thick, red smoke which had started to escape.  Holding him still, Sam pulled his blade him his belt and settled to work.  Once he’d filled the jug most of the way, he let Crowley drop, shuddering to the ground.  He lay panting in small breaths and Sam stepped past him while screwing the cap on which blood soaked hands.  Crowley looked up at him shocked.

         “Don’t get too excited.  I give a fifty-fifty chance whether your demons or my demons find you first.  He wiped the lip of the jug with the sleeve of his coat and tossed it into the passenger seat.  Sam slammed the passenger door and headed back toward the bunker. 

         Dean’s right where Sam left him and he looks at the jug and Sam’s blood soaked sleeve a little suspiciously as Sam passed.  Bypassing Dean, Sam headed toward _the room_. 

         It was difficult for Sam to judge the affect the blood had on his mind.  He could feel the difference in the temperature of his skin, and the hunger was obvious and unavoidable, but Sam approached the room cautiously.  Sam still couldn’t tell how many days Dean have left him starving, and but he could still see the mess of scarring around his wrist from where cutting repeatedly on the cuff had left it infected.  It had healed quickly once he’d started drinking in earnest, but it had knit together wrong, anchoring frayed edge to frayed edge.  It certainly wasn’t the worst of his scars.

         He unlocked the doors and gritted his teeth at the familiar sound as they scraped open.  Stepping inside only briefly, he stored the jug and shut the doors once again.

 

         That night, Sam lay in bed waiting until he heard Dean’s door shut down the hall.  He sat up in bed.

         _Cas._ There’s no answer at first and Sam waits, praying harder.  It takes several tries before Cas shows up, standing several feet away and eying Sam suspiciously.  Cas can smell Sam now, so strongly he can almost taste the sickness on his tongue.  _Abomination_ he thinks loudly and Sam frowns.

         “I’ve got what I need now, Cas.”  Sam walks across the room and Cas notices one of Sam’s hands is shaking.  He’s at war with what’s growing inside him now.  “I think I can exorcise Dean.”

         “What makes you say that?”  Cas’ eyes never leave Sam and he watches him as he grabs his demonslaying blade off his bed.  He hands it to Cas handle first.

         “I got Crowley.  If I drink what I got from him I think I can rip it out.”  Sam’s shaking hand has caught his attention now and he grips it tight with his other hand to steady it. 

         “And then?”  Crowley can see the hunger in Sam’s eyes, stronger with every demon he drinks.  Sam’s grits his teeth.

         “I’ll be weak.”  Sam nods his head a little, jerkily and Cas understands. 

         “I’ve already broke the sigils. I’ll come when you call.” 

         Sam smiles tightly at him and grateful for the olive branch reaches out to touch Cas.  Cas is unmoving as Sam embraces him, accepting but not reciprocating. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

         Several days later, Sam and Dean are packed into the Impala and headed to Warsaw, Iowa, just across the state border and a couple hours’ drive from the bunker.  They’re tracking a lead from a news article about a young man found dead in his apartment with his eyes ripped out.  They hit the police department first. 

         “Special Agent Rockwell, and this is my partner Special Agent Sully,” Dean introduces himself, and Sam and Dean hold out badges. 

         “Glad to hear it,” the man says.  He’s a black man around thirty to forty years old with salt and pepper gray hair licking at him temples.  “Deputy Commissioner Wallace.”  He motions for them to follow him and they head to the back.  The station is small with only a few desks for them to pass until they’re motioned into the man’s office.  Sam and Dean settle into low wooden chairs across from a pile of papers which all but concealed the desk underneath.  Wallace settles into his chair and pulls a file from the cabinets behind him before swiveling back around and passing the file across to Dean. 

         “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he explains as Dean flicks through the manila envelope.  Inside are graphic pictures of a young man lying in a pool of blood.  His eyes and eyelids are both missing and there’s splatterings of blood around his cheeks and brows.  Dean passes the file to Sam who studies it.

         “What do you think happened?” 

         “I have no idea.”  He says it slowly, stretching out each word and punctuating it with a soft pause.  “Looking at the picture it’s almost like—“

         “They exploded out of his sockets?” Sam asks.  The man looks a little shocked but nods.

         “Did the victim have any enemies?  Anyone who might want to see him hurt?”  Dean stares at Wallace who just shrugs.

         “No more than anyone else.  Just an ex-girlfriend.  They broke up about a week ago.”  Sam shuts the file and hands it back to Wallace. 

         “Have you spoken with her?” Sam asks.

         “We had a deputy stop by.  There’s nothing to tie her to the scene of the crime and she has an alibi for the night of the murder.”  Sam and Dean nod, and Sam stands, reaching out to shake Wallace’s hand. 

         “We’ll start there.  Thanks”

         “Yeah, thank you.” 

 

         Sam and Dean check the apartment first, tearing things apart until they find a hex bag tucked into the couch cushions.  Dean stuffs it into his pocket and they head to meet the ex. 

 

         The woman is dark haired and wears bright red lipstick.  She offers them tea as they sit on her couch.

         “We’re here to talk about your ex, Collin McKlean.”  She nods, and answers their questions politely. 

         “Did Collin have any enemies?” Dean asks. 

         “Not to my knowledge.  He was very popular, especially with women,” she replies.

         “Do you have any reason to believe he was involved with anyone else?”  Sam asks, looking between the woman and Dean. 

         “No.”  The way she says it is an obvious lie, and Dean raises his eyebrows and looks back at Sam.  Dean tugs the hexbag out of his pocket and holds it in front of her.  She stares at it shocked.

         “Have you ever seen this before?”  Dean’s pressing it a little too close to her and she studies it.

         “W-What is that supposed to be?”  Sam leans back as she says it.  She’s a terrible liar. 

         “It’s a hexbag, lady.  I’m thinkin’ it’s your hexbag.  I bet you’re thinking this is some kind of just desserts for wandering eyes.”  Dean tucks the bag back into his pocket as the woman shoots him a desperate look.

         “It wasn’t supposed to work.  I didn’t think it would work.”  She’s choking back tears and Dean looks at Sammy who’s sitting back on the couch. 

         “That good enough for you, Sammy?”  Sam shrugs and the woman looks at him confused.  That’s not the name he used when he introduced himself.

         “Yeah.  I guess that’s fine by me.”  As he’s saying it, Dean stands up next to him and drags the first blade from his belt.  The woman stares at it, bright red lips painted into a red ‘o’.  She tries to scramble to her feet, but Dean’s on her, grabbing her shoulder.  He sinks the blade deep into her stomach and she shudders, eyes wide and unfocused before finally falling still. 

        

         Dean skips a little down the stairs as they settle back into the Impala to get out of town.  About three miles out they stop to get some gas and snacks and Sam leaves Dean in the car because of the blood soaked into the collar of his sleeve. 

         Sam takes his time picking out snacks, grabbing a soda and chips for Dean and a water for himself.  As Dean’s starting to get antsy in the car, a couple follows Sam into the gas station.  He watches him from over the aisles and he catches the woman looking at him.  He has his old hunting knife tucked into his coat pocket so he slips it out.  It isn’t a demonslaying blade, but Sam approaches with it anyway.  He can smell them from here and reaching out he roots them to the spot as he approaches. 

         “Sam Winchester,” one of them breathes and the other looks at him shocked. 

         “How’s Crowley?” 

         “He’s dead,” the demon replies and Sam nods a little.  “And hell?” 

         “It’s civil war down there,” it replies, deferentially, eying the knife in Sam’s hand.  Sam gives his a little half frown and a shrug before sinking his knife into its neck. 

         Sam heads out and tucks into passenger side as Dean watches him.  He eyes the smears around Sam’s mouth and on his jacket.

         “Hungry?” 

         Sam shrugs.  It had been a lot at once, even for him and he was jittery like a caffeine high.  His skin felt hot and two sizes too small, stretched around him.  Dean leaned over and wiped the worst of it away from Sam’s mouth.  He was pulling his hand back when Sam latched onto his thumb. 

         Sam looked up at him through his lashes as he did it and Dean couldn’t help but groan.  He twisted his thumb out of Sam’s mouth with a pop and grabbed his face with two hands. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

         By the time they got back to the bunker Sam felt loose and ready for what was to come.  He calls for Cas with his mind before following Dean down the hall.  Cas appeared in front of Dean and Dean reeled back a little in shock.  Sam sighs with relief.  It’s the first time Cas has ever shown up without him having to ask twice.  While Dean is distracted, Sam throws him against the wall with a flick of his wrist.  When Cas looked back at Sam, he shuddered.  Sam’s eyes were glowing a constantly shifting landscape of yellows, over illuminated for the moderate bunker lighting.  Dean’s eyes are black now and he’s writhing against the wall.

         “ _Sam!?”_ he shouts, shocked and his voice comes out distorted like it’s coming from several voices at once.  Sam holds him, outstretched hand shaking a little and his nose starts to drip.  Dean was strong.  A lot stronger than Crowley was and Sam struggles a little.

         “Cas,” Sam growls and Cas grabs Dean, wrestling him a little down the hall.  Cas manhandles Dean into the room, forcing him down in the chair.  Stepping inside nervously, Sam eyes the circle and can see where Cas has touched it up with white paint in several spots, repairing Dean’s cut.  Sam stands outside the outer ring, unsure.  Cas looks up at him, still struggling with Dean’s other wrist. 

         “You can’t enter the circle.”  It’s condemnation from Cas’ lips and Sam can hear in it and echo of the anger he’d held for Dean several months ago.

         “I don’t know,” he admits.

         “Sam!”  Dean’s screaming for him as Cas steps back.  “Sammy.  What are you doing?” his voice is gentle now, a little exasperated.  “You know I’m the only one.  No one else could want you Sam.” 

         Sam ignores him, turning to retrieve the carton of Crowley’s blood he’d stashed several days before. 

         “I’m a demon, Sam, but you’re a _monster._ I’m the only one who can give you what you want.” 

         Sam won’t turn to face him, and he can feel Dean and Cas’ eyes on his back as he drags the jug up to his mouth. 

         “Sam, come on.  You can’t do it.  You’ll have to kill me.”  Dean watches Sam’s back.  Cas has a better view from the side and he can see Sam taking in deep mouthfuls and swallowing quickly as small lines escape his lips and run down his chin and neck.  Sam stops once or twice, gagging and Cas can see that Sam’s got tears running down his cheeks. 

         “You’re wasting your time Sam.  One, maybe two demons at the gas station and one more now?  That’s not even close to enough.” 

         Sam chokes back another gag and drags the bottle from his mouth.  He takes a deep breath, halfway through the bottle and turns to Dean.  Dean can see his soaked mouth and the wet trails tracing down his cheeks. 

         “It’s Crowley, Dean.”  Sam takes a few breaths, looking down at Dean while as he raises it up again.  Dean looks a little shocked, and a small smile tugs at his mouth.

         “Wow.  You broke out the special old preserve.”  Dean pauses a moment and looks at Cas who is looking at them both sternly.  “Not that it’ll help, Sam,” Dean continues, turning his attention back on Sam as he works.  “Let’s say this works.  Let’s say you get the demon out of me.  Then what?  You’re worse than me now.  I don’t know what kind of crap Cas is filling your head with, but you’re too far in.  The withdrawal would kill you.”  Sam keeps drinking only now his hands are shaking badly.  He finishes the jug and covering another gag with a cough he drops it. 

         “I know.  I’m leaving Cas with you.” 

         Dean fights, jerking against the chains.

         “Damnit Sam!  Don’t die over this.  I swear to god, if you do this, I won’t fight the mark.  You know I won’t.  I’ll kill everyone. _Everyone_.  Only you won’t be there to stop me.”  Sam wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it smears.  His eyes are glowing as he looks down at Dean. 

         “Don’t watch, Cas.  I’ll come get you when it’s done.”  Sam’s voice is low and Dean watches the lights flicker as the room shakes.   

         Cas looks between them and shakes his head slightly.  “Sam…” 

         “LEAVE!”  Sam throws him and his head hits the wall hard.  He struggles to his feet.  Sam’s back is facing him as he watches Dean.  Cas steps out, leaving Sam and Dean alone.  The doors screech shut. 

         Slowly, Sam reaches out and it’s like a freight train hitting Dean in the chest.  Instantly, he’s screaming, teeth bared and it comes out twisted and sick.  Dean can feel himself being ripped apart as he rips at the cuffs.  When the lights burst, Sam’s eyes become the only two points of light in the dim room.  Sam’s shaking and his nose is bleeding, but smoke is slowly being dragged out of Dean. 

         Sam can feel the mark inside Dean with him and Sam’s screaming, fighting it as it coils around him like a snake.  Sam struggles, and it feels like he’s being ripped inside out as wind screams around them throwing the shards of glass from the lights into the air.  The last of the smoke rolls out of Dean’s mouth and Sam can feel Dean’s mind like a cool hand on the back of his neck.  Dean’s open to him now and he doesn’t fight it as Sam struggles, finding that he can get a grip on the mark now, whereas before it had been like a flat wall.  Blood is pouring down his nose and he staggers.  Thin rivulets of blood start as fat drops like tears at the corner of Sam’s eyes.  Dean’s screaming again and he watches as his arm is flayed with cuts that burst from under his skin.  The mark is broken. 

         Dean falls slack in the chair, head hanging limp against his chest and Sam’s knees hit the ground.  Cas can feel the mark break and he bursts through the doors and runs to Dean, cupping his face in his hands.  With two fingers on his neck he feels for a pulse.  It’s weak and fading fast.  He grabs Dean with the palm of his hand flat on his forehead and pours grace in.  As it settles inside Dean, he can feel a terrible jagged hollowness in Dean from where the mark’s been ripped out.  Cas’ eyes glow blue and Dean gasps for breath. 

         “Dean.  _Dean!”_ He’s shaking Dean’s face in his hands.

         “Cas?” Dean asks weakly, looking up into his face.  “Cas… what…?”  He’s looking around the room and he catches sight of Sam on the floor, blood running from his eyes and nose.  _“SAM!”_  

         Cas unchains Dean and helps him up.  Unsteadily, Dean lurches toward Sam, kneeling beside him and patting his cheeks.  “Come on, Sammy.” 

         Cas reaches down to touch Sam and feel for a pulse but Dean shoves his hand away.  He pulls Sam up into his arms and feels under his jaw.  Satisfied, he grabs Sam’s arm and drags him into the circle.  With Cas’ help they get him seated in the chair and Sam’s head lulls listlessly to the side.  Beside him, Dean’s hands are shaking too badly to close the belts around Sam’s arms and wrists.  It takes three tries before he’s looped the first one correctly.

         “Dean.”  Cas is beside him, hands clasping and unclasping by his sides.  He looks like he wants to reach out and touch Dean.  “ _Dean… he’s..”_

         “So fix him!”  Dean doesn’t even turn to look at Cas, still fighting to get Sam tied down.

         “I don’t know if I can.  Whatever’s inside of him--”

         “Is coming out,” Dean seethes.  Cas presses his hand to Sam’s forehead but he doesn’t recognize what he feels inside. 

 

         Dean sat, leaning up against the wall for hours until Cas left to bring him a pillow and some blankets. 

 

         Hours later Sam awoke and looked around the room confused.

         “ _Dean?”_ he croaked, voice wrecked.  Dean hurried to his feet and padding across the floor gripped Sam’s hand where it was resting on the arm of the chair, wrist fastened with a tight leather strap.  His hand is cold and sweaty in Dean’s.

         “I’m right here, Sammy.  I’m not leaving.”  Sam studies his face for a moment or two before accepting that and relaxing a little.


	12. Chapter 12

         By the next day, whatever Sam hadn’t burned out of his system exorcising and ripping the mark off of Dean was depleted and Sam was pale and sweating profusely. 

         That evening, Cas brought Dean burgers from his favorite diner and he ate them sitting on the cold concrete floor.  Dean looked up at Cas gratefully as he received the bag. 

         “Thanks, Cas.”  Cas just looked between him and Sam and nodded before ducking out.

 

         Sam is shaking now, large muscles straining against the belts.  He feels like his stomach was on fire and when he retched he could feel it searing his insides.  He jerked his head back several times to look for the source of a whisper coming from behind him but he never caught sight of anything.

 

         Dean awoke later that night to the sound of Sam talking.  Sam was pale and thin and his hair was greasy and flat against his head.  Dean could hear the creak of the leather around Sam’s wrists as he flexed.

         _“No.”_ Sam was saying it over and over again like a mantra, sometimes screaming.  His voice was hoarse and jagged and Dean offered him a little water.  He undid the cap and pressed the opening to Sam’s lips, letting it tip up enough that cold water touched his burning lips.  Sam swallowed a little, but after the first sip he choked, and when Dean offered the again after that he turned his head and flinched away from Dean.

 

 

 

 

         You’re not real.

                  _I’m real enough._

         What do you want?

                  _Somehow, you’re easier to talk to when you’re like this._

        

         Lucifer leaned against the wall, watching Sam with a small smile.  Sam just looked up at him, hair hanging partially over his face.

                  _Oh, don’t give me those puppy dog eyes.  I’m impressed, Sam!  Honestly, I wish the mark had put up more of a fight because this, this was fun.  _

 

         Lucifer tilts his head.

 

                  _I can hear them talking.  Crowley’s dead and the little people of hell are all a-twitter looking for you.  I didn’t believe it at first, but watching you go…_ Lucifer whistles and winks.  _I can see why dad picked you out special for me.  But…_ Lucifer pauses as though contemplating.  _I think Michael’s a little upset with Dean._

         You’re not getting out.  _Never._ He was snarling through gritted teeth.

                  _Ah,_ Lucifer shook a finger at Sam.  _I’m not out yet, but I can wait.  This time you almost dropped yourself right at my doorstep.  We’ll get where we need to be._

         Sam started thrashing in the chair as Lucifer came close and Dean awoke on the floor to Sam screaming. 

         Sam could see where the flesh was burning off Lucifer’s face and smell the sour tang of his breath as it licked his skin.  He was screaming himself raw and Dean ran over, grabbing his shoulders. 

 

         “It’s okay, Sammy.  You’re okay.  It’s just us.”  Dean was rubbing his cheek and Sam just panted and stared through him with dull glassy eyes. 

 

         For the next two days Sam is silent and still.  Dean offers him water again and Sam swallows it weakly without ever looking away from the wall.

 

         It’s another six days until Sam stabilizes.  Dean brings Sam a milkshake but Sam throws up after drinking only a few sips.  Dean calls for Cas and they unbind him and carry him limply out of the chair and set him down in the shower.  Dean sits under the hot spray with him, washing the worst of it off Sam’s face.  With Sam cradled between his thighs sitting on the shower floor he sends Cas away. 

         “Thanks, Cas.  I’ve got him.”  He strips Sam of his soaked clothes, peeling it off his skin and doing what he can to wash him.  He seems smaller, laying limp in Dean’s arms, but long arms and legs are difficult to maneuver.  Sam let’s his head fall against Dean’s shoulder and he relaxes.  He’s asleep by the time Cas is back offering them dry clothes.

 

         Sam awakens in his bed.  He’s alone and he rises unsteadily to his feet, supporting himself against the wall.  He shuffles his way down the hall and into the kitchen before he finds Dean and Cas.  Dean jerks upright kicking his chair back behind him and he hurries over to Sam.  He pulls him into a crushing hug and Sam accepts, patting him lightly on the back.  Sam’s still pale and thinner than Dean’s ever seen him.  He’s as tall as before, but his clothes hang off his body and hugging Sam is all bumpy edges. 

         “Dean…”  Sam is looking around bewildered with eyes set in deep bruises.  Despite his legs shaking weakly beneath him and the coldness of the tile on his bare feet cutting right through him, none of this seems real.  Dean tells him to sit and goes into the kitchen for milk and toast.

         Sam eats a little self-consciously in front of the other men.  Dean is still talking to him, but Cas hasn’t stopped staring at Sam since he entered the room.  When Sam drinks the last of his milk, Dean takes the plates to the sink.

         “How to you feel?”  Cas is watching him cautiously and Sam give him a weak shrug.

         “I’m pretty sure I’m alive.”  He runs the palm of his hand along the edge of the table while he talks, feeling the polished finished.  Cas is nodding a little when Dean reenters the room.

         “C’mon, Sam.”  Dean comes and loops his arm under Sam’s shoulder and helps him to his feet.  They walk unsteadily back to his room.  Dean lies next to him and soon Sam sinks into a dreamless sleep.  A little later he’s awakened by Dean’s voice.

         “’m sorry, Sam.  I’m so, sorry.”  Dean’s voice is wrecked and Sam reaches out for him. 

         “…no,” Sam mutters sleepily.  He doesn’t want to hear it.  He grabs Dean’s hand and gives it a small squeeze and Dean chokes a little beside him.

         “All my fault Sam.”

         “Sshhh…”  Sam’s tired but he opens his eyes a little to look at Dean.  Dean won’t look him in the eye and his shoulders are shaking.  “Ssshhh…” Sam breathes, rubbing Dean’s hand with his fingers.  “I’m not mad, Dean.” 

         “I just—“  Sam squeezes his hand as hard as he can manage to make him stop.  Sam’s sitting up a little now.

         “We…”  Sam is smiling a little at Dean, but his eyes are still pinched.  “We beat the mark, Dean.”  Sam runs his fingers up Dean’s wrist a little and Dean unbuttons his sleeve and rolls it up to show his arm to Sam.  Where the mark used to be there’s puckered scar tissue like the mark had clawed its way out.  Sam covers it with his hand and lies back smiling. 

 

Epilogue:

 

         Four months later Sam and Dean are tracking a lone werewolf in south Michigan.  It’s young and taking fresh hearts from joggers late at night.  Agents Craig Nelson and Joe Wilson stand over one of the victims at the morgue.  The body is missing a heart and Sam picks up a scalpel to poke around and see if anything else is missing. 

         “Just the heart?”  Dean asks, watching Sam, and Sam nods.

         “Just the heart.  It shredded everything in-between trying to get it out.”

         “So, impatient then.  That proves it’s young,” Dean says.  Sam agrees and wipes his hand on the blanket covering the man’s legs.  He walks over and stands behind Dean while Dean returns the autopsy report to a tray on the end of the mortuary bed.  Sam stands close enough that Dean can feel the warmth of his breath and he tilts his head.  Sam brushes his lips behind Dean’s ear and Dean relaxes into it. 

         “Ready?”  Sam murmurs, close to Dean’s ear.  Dean sighs. 

         “Yeah, let’s go.”

 


End file.
